New Story News

Posted: March 12, 2013 in Uncategorized
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Last Year was as fun as it was long. I’m not complaining. I just found myself with too much left to do. This is particularly true in the writing department. I have started several stories and each is just a few thousand words in. I feel like my progress is hampered by each attempt I make to progress. I have tried being more laid back and things a bit at a time.

Let me just say: NONE of it works.

Relaxing or trying to when you feel like you need to get things done just makes it worse. Instead, I am opting out. I am just writing until my eyes hurt or my fingers go numb. At the end of the day, I won’t feel like I’ve skirted my responsibilities, which is better anyway.

All that aside, I am working on some cool new stuff which I can’t wait to finish and post. Wish me luck!

Thanks for Stopping by!


The Midnight Train


There was blood on Irving’s hands. It all happened so fast. The moment came with a quick push, a boom, and the final bang. A man was dead and riding the Midnight Train, maybe to Heaven but probably Hell.

Irving stood over the man, waiting for an answer from Heaven or Hell; none ever came. He was guilty. He knew he had just shot a man. His mind jumped from the gun in his hand to the consequences that lay ahead.

Should I run? Should I stay? The words blurred together in Irving’s mind. His heart pumped fast for what felt like hours. What was left for him now? Would he run? Would there be time?

That night time had stopped. The sun refused to rise and bring the day. Irving was still a poor son of bitch with nothing to lose and everything to gain. He knew he was bound for Heaven or Hell. Not knowing which filled his young mind with fear and doubt.

After several minutes of wrestling with where he may end up he decided not to hazard a guess. Instead, he waited for what he assured himself was certain death; all part of a destiny he could not escape. He knew something would happen when he woke up that morning. His mother warned him to be careful before he left. She had warned him more than usual.

“I don’t want to hear about you riding the Midnight Train. You hear me, Irving?”

He could hear his mother’s voice in his head mixed in with the tales she used to tell him about the Midnight Train. She would always hold him tight and tell him he was never going to have to ride the Midnight Train out of town because he was such a good boy. She would talk about her uncle who died in a bar after drinking too much.

“Irving, just remember how your uncle died. He was alone that night and he did things he shouldn’t have. Make sure you’re careful. Your aunt wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Neither would I, you know.” After a short but necessary pause his mother would add, “If anything happens just come home.” Then she would kiss him good bye.

It was after this that he always answered:“Yes mom. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself, Okay ma?” His tone was calm and rehearsed with the boredom and control of constant repetition.

That day, the Irving left with the worries of the world on his mind. He had no idea that death would be that, otherwise normal Thursday’s conquest. Now, he continued to stand over the man’s body waiting for some kind of sign. All the while, his crime proved his mother’s prophecy false. The Midnight Train had come. It had just taken the man whose name Irving didn’t even know.

The gun in Irving’s hand belonged to the man. Well, used to belong to the man. The man may have gotten it on one of those nights when he seemed to walk down the street to nowhere in particular. That was the man’s story as far as Irving knew it. Irving, on the other hand, had been sitting on a bench near the train station. He had been waiting for the train quite a long time before the man showed up.

“Hey. Excuse me sir. Could you tell me the time?”

“It’s eleven forty five.” He paused staring at Irving before turning away.

“How long have you been waiting?”

“About an hour and a half to two hours. By the way, thanks for the time.”

“Yeah, sure kid. What’s your name anyways?”

“Michael, but uh everyone calls me Irving.”

“Really, I don’t hear Everyone.” He laughed adding,“Irving huh. Kind of late to be out my yourself isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Irving’s answer was colored with disappointment and annoyance.

Some time passed before the man said another word to Irving.

“What do you do around here for fun?”

“Not sure. I didn’t think there was anything fun to do.”

“You’re funny kid. Can you tell any jokes?”

“Not good ones.”

“Well then, shoot.”

“Uh, okay. What did the… no. Um. Okay, I got it. How do you get a Harvard graduate off your porch?”

“I don’t know kid. You tell me.”

“Well, guess. Come on. Work with me here.”

“I don’t know.”

“Pay him for the pizza.”

The man let out a wry laugh followed by a sigh. “That was pretty good kid. Want some?”

The man took a drink from a small silver flask and waved it in front of Irving.

“Want some, kid? It’s good for you. Keeps you polished.”

‘Irving stared for a moment. Was the man serious? No, he couldn’t be serious,’ Irving thought.

“No thanks, I’ve had my bit for today,” he lied.

The man continued to take sips and make small talk with Irving while they waited for the train.

“So where you headed, Irving?”

“Memphis. How about you?”

“Boston to Memphis, eh? You’re a strange kid. What’s in Memphis?”

“My aunt. She’s wanted me to visit for a long time.”

“Well, Irving, if you’re smart you’ll sit with me.”

“Um sure. I guess. What do you mean?”

“Just saying kid. We gotta stick together.”

Irving figured that the middle aged man was just some nut who had escaped from the head shop so he played along. He didn’t want to agitate the man and there was no need for him to miss the train just to avoid the man. It was easier and more logical to sit through it and agree to whatever the man said. Apparently, the man had been talking about the Red Sox and the Yankees. Irving had missed most of the conversation and sat on the bench afraid to answer.

Then like some miracle, the train appeared and they got on. Irving thought about trying to find a crowd to lose the man in. Less than two minutes had elapsed and Irving realized that there would never be a crowd on the night train. Dammit, he thought to himself. The man turned and watched Irving. What am I supposed to do? This guy is on my tail. Oh please, hurry up Memphis, he muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, the man stared at Irving with a serious face. Irving just sat there. He didn’t move or say a word. The man followed suit. Several hours had ticked away on the slow trip to Memphis when Irving remembered that the train would stop for an hour in Washington, DC. This was where he would lose the man. He planned to really lose the man in a crowd. The night train may have only had a few people, but the city would have tons, even at this hour so he could not fail. With one hour left until the train stopped in DC, Irving sat impatiently.

I can do this. I can do this. I don’t even know this guy, Irving thought feeling the weight of his decision on his twitchy left leg.

Irving sat next to the middle aged man reassuring himself that this was not the worst thing he could do. Not to the man sitting next to him. This was only a thing. A small thing he could do.

“Hey, Mr. Uh? What did you say your name was?”

The man looked away as if he was deep in thought. Then he turned back to Irving.

“You know, kid. I remember the good old days. The days when life was cheap and everything just fell into place. Yeah, those were the best days. Sometimes the worst days. In the end they were just days when we were thankful to be alive.”

Irving thought about it for a minute. He was only seventeen. He had not lived long enough to compare his life and experiences to those of the man. He knew this was true and wondered if the man wanted him to realize how young and naïve he really was. Suddenly, Irving turned away from the man. The seat creaked and groaned underneath him. The man flinched and stared at him as if he wanted to rip his arms off.

“Are you okay, kid? Did you say something? Were you talking to me? Did you talk at all? Did you hear that?”

“No. I didn’t say anything. I’m just sitting here. Don’t mind me.”

The man’s expression changed from something to nothing. He no longer looked angry; he just seemed to be missing emotions. The man had a deep seated sense of apathy that he tried to pass off as empathy. He sat still for a minute. Then he started to look over his shoulder and mumble to himself.

“Doggy, doggy, there you are. Doggy doggy, there you are.” He spoke under his breath in a child like voice for a few minutes. Then he stopped. He just stopped. Irving turned toward the man as goosebumps crawled down his arms and up to the back of his neck.

Crap, he’s gone nuts. Shit. What am I going to do now, he asked himself taking a deep breath. I can do this. I can do this, he told himself.

A while later, the train stopped in DC. Irving got up and slid past the middle aged.

“Hey kid, where you going,” the man asked as he stood up and grabbed Irving’s arm. Irving turned to the man inquisitively.

“What are you doing? Let go!”

“Where you going, kid?”

“None of your business, man!”

“Don’t talk to me like that, kid!”

“Dammit! My name is Irving. Stop calling me kid! I’m not your kid or your damn, whatever! Let me off this damn train.”

The man looked at Irving with the kind of meanness that makes it hard to swallow, let alone run. The man grabbed Irving’s other arm, pulling him so close that his glare stared back at him through Irving’s eyes. Fear entered Irving’s mind slowly poisoning his thoughts. He had to do more than lose the man. There was no other choice. He struggled, trying to pull himself back.

“Let me go. Let me go!”

Irving kept stepping back and being pulled forward by the man.

“Shut up, kid! Don’t argue with your elders,” the man yelled as he pushed Irving back against a wall; all the while, the train hummed on. Irving could feel small drops of spit hitting his face causing it to burn with anger. The screaming, the spit, and the angry middle aged man all came together at the worst of moments. Irving was panicking. He felt himself drowning and unable to swim. The pressure was mounting. Where the hell was DC? What could Irving do to escape? A simple and not so transient Nothing came to mind.

The train made a loud hum after which it started to wind down. Irving snapped back to reality; the one where the man seemed hell bent on killing or at least maiming him. The man closed his eyes and opened his mouth showing all his teeth. Then he ground his teeth together. Irving tried to shove him away and make a run for it. The man pulled him back hard and he fell on the floor.

“Stay there, kid.”

The man watched Irving unblinkingly.

“Don’t move, kid.”

Irving inched up to his feet slowly, making eye contact with the man. The man reached into his jacket pocket. Irving was tense. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. The man pulled something out. What was it? Irving couldn’t find the words until the man held the gun up to his face.

“Stand still you stupid kid. I told you not to move.”

Irving flinched and the man took a shot. He missed. Irving’s head started to spin. He saw the man, then the gun. Then the man again. Irving hoped the man would put the gun down. Instead, the man held it up.

“I thought you were my friend, Irving! I thought you would stay with me and we would go to Memphis. I really wanted to meet your family, you know. I wanted to make you part of my family.”

The man shook his head from side to side while looking at Irving.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re my only friend. The one kid I thought could get me, you know? You’re my friend, Irving!”

The train started winding up with a loud hum. The man ground his teeth and tapped the gun on the side of his head.

“Why don’t you get it, Irving? What don’t you get.”

Irving stared back. The thought of dying was uncomfortable. Knowing that something so impalpable could be real. How would it feel to die, he wondered. God, how did I end up here? The words never left Irving’s mouth but they were just as real. I should have gone home. I wish my mother knew how much I loved her. I wish I would have stayed in Boston. He had so many regrets. He was too young to go away.

Irving was so caught up in the necessity of his existence that he didn’t even notice how much the man had rambled on. It was when there was a sudden silence that Irving decided he must try to escape. He must. With that he launched himself at the man.

“Give me the gun.”

Irving pulled at the man’s hands.

“Stop it, kid. I don’t want to have to do this again.”

The man’s eyes grew wide. Irving could see the red and blue veins.

“Just give me the gun, man. Give it to me.” Irving struggled for the gun. The man wouldn’t back down.

“No! Why are you doing this, Irving? I thought you were my friend.”

“Shut up, shut up! Give. Me. The. Gun. Give it to me now! I want it now,” Irving shouted.

The man pulled the gun back and pointed it at his temple. Then at Irving. And back toward himself. This pissed Irving off even more. What was wrong with this guy. Irving didn’t know. The one thing he did know was the danger that lay ahead in this game of unwilling Russian roulette between the man and himself. In the struggle it went off again. Half a second later, Irving stood alone with a gun and bloody hands. The man fell to the ground, landing with a thud.

“God, what have I done?” Irving dropped the gun and stared at his hands. Thick gobs of blood covered the hands that now seemed to belong to someone else. The hands that once hugged and held his mother no longer existed. Instead, he was left with an emptiness that could only be resolved by removing his hands. The quick thinking kid who boarded the train was gone, just like the last remnants of night that live in the shadows during the day.

Irving looked out the window. The train was still moving. The next stop was Memphis. He stood still, silently holding his breath, as the train passed a cemetery. He let out a loud, slightly labored sigh as the train crossed the last tombstone. Seeing the cemetery in the distance forced him back to the task at hand. Should he try to run or wait for the police in Memphis?


Irving was guilty. He couldn’t deny it. What was left for Irving now? He couldn’t think of a thing that wasn’t fraught with pain and misery. He picked up the gun and held it tightly in his hand. He turned it up to his face, beguiled by its smooth barrel and dark brownish red spots. His hand stiffened as he put the gun in his mouth. With a boom and a screech the train had reached Memphis. A man had been shot and there was no one left to blame. The two had been found. Both dead. Claimed by the Midnight Train.


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Posted: December 29, 2011 in Nighttime, Uncategorized, Writting
Tags: , ,


I stepped outside into enveloping darkness.

The air around me felt moist.

It wasn’t humid, just a barely tangible wetness.

The kind that sticks to your skin and makes you feel cold during a cool night.

But again, not humid.

It was the first sting that shook me from my thoughts.

The second sting scared me.

And the third simply felt dirty.

My eyes were open.

They had seen it all.

And all was nothing.

I walked quickly trying to push my insecurities aside.

My mind convinced me that it had wandered too far.

Reality jolted me back again.

Warm, sticky wetness oozed down my back past my shoulder blades.

I was frozen barely able to contain my fear of possible invasion.

There wasn’t much I could do.

But I wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by goosebumps.

I reached up and touched the wetness on my back.

Then I brought my moist fingers forward.

A quick look made it clear that the wetness was thick and red.

The conclusion was not one I wanted or was willing to accept.

My legs shivered.

I ran.

There was no way to control my fear now.

My legs pushed and carried me forward feeling the full weight of each step.

Faster and farther.

The ooze clotted, turned reddish-brown, stopped.

My legs slowed to a halt.

My fear held me in a state of constant vigilance.

Now I knew I needed to trust my instinct to flee.

Now I knew something had happened.

In what seemed like a moment, I was bitten.

Then the feeling was gone.

All that remained was fear and slowly clotting blood.

My body felt guarded from intrusion but no longer safe.

Every tree and shadow convinced me that beyond myself there were things I could never understand.

I knew enough to feel calm as I started to walk again.

This time I was heading home.

The darkness that scared me and tore deep into my flesh watched silently.

The shadows continued to loom over me.

There was nothing I could do to avoid another attack but something within me believed there would be none.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve gone a tunnel crawl or just a little pub crawl and I’m feeling a tad antsy. If I’m lucky the weather will get better and my friends will be less busy. It would be nice to hang out. Until then, I have my memories to keep me company.

My favorite memory is of the day I met Charlie. I was just a college kid trying to make some new friends when she suddenly dropped down from a tree. At first I thought an animal had come down from the tree. Then I noticed that it was a very short girl whose nickname I learned. It was pretty cool.

After that we just hit it off and never looked back.

The other memory that keeps me busy is the one about my first Urbex adventure. I was only 14 when I first ventured out. But it wasn’t until I turned 17 that I truly became obsessed. Urbex became my second life. It felt like being a spy the first few times. Then I just became a thrill seeker.

The need for living on the edge of getting caught and feeling danger was endless. I didn’t just burn the candle at both ends, I blew it up. I was exposed to life on the edge and there was no coming back.

Well, that’s the end of my quick trip down memory lane. No more rainy day nostalgia for a while. Wish me luck on finding a new thrill.

Here’s a small tribute to our first official crawl. Hope you enjoy it!

Thanks for always having my back Charlie!

Not day, not night. Twilight. Chaotic, moody twilight. That’s when I like to stake out a new locations and possible future haunts.

It was a Thursday morning when I first stumbled onto the edge of small barely there creek. By twilight, it was more than a new shortcut.

The Reason: There were several small (unknown to me) tunnels. There were three easily accessible ones and two not so accessible.

Area Status: Lonely small town creek.

Everything was in place for a twilight tunnel crawl. All I needed now was my partner; Charlie Sparxx. Sparxx leads a different kind of life. Not so different from me but different enough that we get along without having to try too hard. That’s just how we do our thing. To put it simply: We don’t Shit, where we Eat and don’t Fuck around! Instead, we pass the time by Exploring our mostly Urban landscape. It’s no concrete jungle but this little creek side tunnel will have to do.

To go on a good crawl, you need to be prepared.

Here’s What You Need:


Fun Suggestions:


We pack up, pick a theme song for the closing party, and get out the door just as the sun is starting to dip in the sky. The creek is only six and a half minutes away. The tunnel itself is eight minutes away. Normally, I don’t sweat minor details but Sparxx felt like we should put it out there. Sparxx is nice. Can’t say the same for myself.

Making our way to the tunnel is the easy part. We just made our way done to the creek and skipped a few stones over to the tunnel entrance. That said, we need to focus on not getting wet or stuck on the pointy and thorny shrubbery nearby.

Rule number One: Avoid Bleeding!!

Rule Number Two: Avoid Getting Wet!!

The Tunnel Crawl is the real challenge. Where a tunnel begins is clear. Where it ends is a whole other story. This tunnel is creek-side and laced with bits of moss. That puts it in the somewhat wet category. Based on this we can assume it is a drain tunnel. That means the width of the tunnel will be ever changing and that we need to be very careful. Never a good idea to get stuck anywhere, let alone a tunnel. Most tunnels change vary in size as you go in deeper but drainage tunnels tend to surprise you. Recent weather reports and a quick Google search tell us the last couple of days have been dry. Dry means we have the green light to go in.

The first thing we do is put our phones on silent. Then we pull out the flashlights and Sharpies. With the Sharpies we scribble our initials near the entrance. In case this tunnel snakes around, we will be sure to find our way. The Sharpie scribbles are our breadcrumbs. After we lay down the first mark we start making our way in.

Rule Number Three: Pay Attention!!

Sparxx and I are listening carefully. You never know who else may be lurking. As a rule of thumb our pocket knives are always within quick reach. In some places, homeless people sleep in tunnels. To avoid having a bad day, we enter with caution. Some tunnels need to be staked out for days before we enter. Others are lonely areas that do not need to be staked out. Although Sparxx and I love a good brawl, we strongly suggest you avoid fights and be prepared.

Back to the new tunnel. As I was saying, we went into the tunnel knowing there would be a variation in sizes throughout so we came prepared to duck. Lucky thing too. The first part of the tunnel (the entry way) was wide and short. To make it through this part we had to walk hunched over. Not bad but I prefer upright movement. The first part goes on for 20 to 25 feet. At that point there is an overhead grate that lets light, water, and anything that hits the floor in. The space was limited. Just enough for Sparxx and I to stand for a few minutes.

Part two of the tunnel was even lower. To cross this part we would have to duck walk. Now, if you have no clue what a duck walk is, let me tell you. It’s when you squat down without touching the ground and move by bringing one knee up and forward followed by the other. The real trick is to keep it from touching the ground. Good luck doing that the first time. After two minutes most people’s thighs will burn. First time Tunnel Crawling is a love it of hate it kind of thing. Most people are not fond of change and chance. For us, it comes with the territory.

Although, part two was lower, it was shorter and led to a bigger area with a grate. Being this far in offered us the opportunity to relax for a bit. Most people like to go into tunnels but their curiosity ends once they reach the first stop. Sparxx and I like to push beyond the general small thrill and get dirty, which is no easy exploit. Mud and dirt are like battle scars. No matter how much you wash up, the memory never fades away. Each crawl has a signature dirt, design, tag, or color that keeps it fresh in my mind. When I think of what Sparxx and I have in common, memories seem to be it.

Rule Number Four: Always Leave Clues!!

As part of every crawl we leave our initials behind. They show us the way back and act as signature for any future Crawlers. So if you ever crawl in the Midwest, find us:

Lenny Rokkitt  and  Charlie Sparxx!

We put our letters down, took a breather, and drew our essentially straight line of a map. Once we figured out where the grate was located, more or less, we wrote some notes on our map. This will help you find the tunnel above ground later. At this point, we are about 30 to 35 feet into the tunnel. The grate area is big enough for party of five or six people. Knowing that we are making plans for group crawls in the future. Satisfied with the information we gained we decided to leave. This tunnel is not fully known.

What we do know is that part three of the tunnel would require an army crawl or a skateboard. Neither of which we had prepared for, so that we will look into on out next crawl. Until then, we’re breaking out the cigars and some good music. I thought I should go into more detail about this crawl but Sparxx said, “The Basics come first.” So there you go. Now, you know who to pick a fight with.

First Crawl

Posted: September 12, 2011 in Crawl, Haven, Tagging, Temple, Tunnel
Tags: , , , , ,

The Temple of Junerism has always been regarded as a safe haven for taggers, graffiti artist, writers, troubled teens, and sometimes the homeless. It has housed many raves and even this young writer at one point.

It was the summer of 2006 when I truly came to call the temple my forbidden, but necessary home. I was homeless and not any closer to being homeward bound. It was the summer from hell. I fell in love, I was going to college, and I ended up homeless for a few weeks.

I guess I should tell you how I ended up at The Temple in the first place.

The first time I encountered The Temple, I was 14 years old and I had a friend named Kat Francisco who was a tagger. She called herself “Angest” or “Angst.” She was a small Phillipino-American girl who liked punk-grunge music and cutting. She was an artist starving for a canvas. I was a writer; not starved, but constantly fed.

Together we sought adventure in the concrete jungle we called home. We wandered in and out of secluded sushi restaurants leaving messages on napkins and dollar bills. Sometimes we would sit around Kennedy Plaza and watch the buses come and go. When that wouldn’t do we would go to The Temple.

Kat Fran, as I called her then, introduced me to her sacred canvas. It was a big stone and brick building dressed in wooden panels. To artists it was hallowed ground. To the city of Providence it was an abandoned construction project from the 1930s.

The Temple was named long before our visit. It was tagged along one side of the roof in bold red and blue slanted letters. The paint seemed fresh, bright, and clean from the adjacent highway.

For years I visited The Temple religiously. Then, in 2005 I stopped. Kat was gone, my first lover had left me, and I was alone. My time was spent wrestling and working a crappy summer job at a chicken joint. My parents were planning their escape, while I got ready for my senior year of high school.

That fall I applied for colleges. By spring I had decided. I made plans, just as my parents had. They were going to Puerto Rico after my graduation and I was staying until August.

That summer I was left in the care of my older sister as a favor to my mother. I was only seventeen but I believed I had a better chance on my own. Two weeks later my sister confirmed my suspiscion.

She wrote me a letter telling me to get out of her house. That night she came home late. I asked her why. She said her husband’s uncle was visiting and I had refused to stay in the same room as the unknown old man. Her husband told her to kick me out and she did. He said I had disrespected him by refusing.

To that I answered “Fuck you both,” while waving my middle finger in the air. I walked out carrying two blue suitcases. In some ways hoping someone would chase me down the street. There was no one. After thirty minutes of walking I stopped. I put my suitcases down and sat on them. I took out my phone and started making calls.

My aunt was away on business and would not be back quickly. My friends were traveling or on vacation. Some I just couldn’t reach.

On a warm summer night I was sitting at a bus stop on top of my suitcases wondering where I could crash for the night. Sitting there, it came to me. The Temple. It was my best shot and the only place I could stay for free. With my plan in mind I started to walk again, reaching The Temple in an hour.

Upon my arrival I stood on the steps I had given up for what felt like years and cried. There was no shame in it, just regret. That day I walked into The Temple and called it home. My sister I took to forsaking within it’s walls. In The Temple I slept alone, fearing I would be found asleep. I met many strangers who wanted me to belong to a group for safety and for the same reason I would quickly turn them down.

I wasn’t afraid of being found as much as I was bothered by thinking I would never love or trust anyone. The people I put trust in, betrayed me. They walked away or abandoned me. There was no going back to them. Time pushed on slowly, punishing me for my blasphemies and hatred of humankind. It let me be alone and seventeen.

It would be two weeks before I slept in a house again or even thought I had another home. My aunt finished her business quickly and flew straight out. She picked me up with her daughters who wondered why was leaving a boarded up hotel. I told them it was a school project to help the community. My aunt confirmed it and the girls accepted it. No questions were asked for while. It was just quiet.

That summer dragged its feet as I worked hard to leave. I refused to stay behind in the college migration that would take place. Instead, I worked to lead it.

Over the next two months, I bought a plane ticket to Missouri and set-up my ride to campus. It wouldn’t be long before I left the little city that had been my home for a new destination.

As my last days got closer and closer I met the perfect stranger. He was a tall man with brown hair and hazel colored eyes. We went out as friends and came back as lovers. This time, I was the one who left. It was good bye and I don’t know when I’ll come home. Then good bye again.